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I recently re-drew an old character of mine; old in a sense of how long I've been on DA. I uploaded the main picture, but made a comparison image with two previous images. Time has sure flown; two years and I've improved greatly. When I first joined DA I didn't expect to hang around a lot, especially at the beginning where writing was my main priority. But now drawing has become almost a rival to my writing; sometimes I wonder what I'm better at.

I never expected to have close to eighty watchers; I don't usually get comments unless its the same person following a certain thing (I.E A fanfic) But my canon work has landed a lot more attention than I thought it would. Long story shot I grew more popular than I'd ever think.

Not that I am popular; I'll eat my own figurative hat if this gets a comment or two, this journal. Christmas is coming and the temperature and light has dropped; cosy socks and hot drinks are in order. I've found myself re-watching and re-reading lots of old things I loved, like the Clone Wars.

I never realized General Grievous was my favorite character; Cad Bane took that spot. It switched around a little. I had a lot of stories going for Clone Wars, and I loved it for quite a while, so its odd I never drew anything of it or wrote anything aside from a brief OC reference doc with no images. That was back when I still edited already existing screenshots and over-coloured; Oh the dreaded cringing.

Same thing with Buzz Lightyear; darn I had ideas. But it all comes down to the inclusion of OCs that drove these stories, and my enthusiasm for creating more oc-filled things fell. My Ratchet and Clank story has enough of those, though I've kept the canon characters prominent.

I've written some Crash Bandicoot things, without ANY of my old ocs from my childhood. Drawn some, but never written. I left it in its canon glory.
Everyone has Fan Characters and I'm guilty of that, too, and of overlooking these characters for canon work. It goes to show that no matter how good an OC is (and I've seen great ones) people rarely take interest.

So I'm shocked to find when people do like them; Mundy the prairie person (Bravestarr) and Ickabar Locksher (R&C) Receive praise. 

So this new style I've gotten into...I have mixed feelings. The lining is sharp, but it looks off sometimes as does the colouring; almost more pixel-like. I don't know if its a bad setting or not.

Random laments of a reflecting cartoon-y artist person.

Lifeforce Chapter 34

"For everything in life there is always a beginning and an end. This is the tough part the most difficult thing when you see that it's coming: The end."
Seve Ballesteros

Burn

Ickabar held his bleeding shoulder with a hand that no longer felt like it was his own. The fire churned around them like a gruesome frame; a pen caging in the two animals, the cat and the mouse. Ickabar's chest was tight, tighter than he ever thought possible, and he had no idea how he could still draw any air into his scorched lungs. His mind felt horribly blank and away from him. Powerless he tried to make sense of it, like a dying creature clawing at the edge of a cliff; a cliff that was all but crumbling in its paws.

Tachyon sneered down at him; the already hideous face twisting like melted, rotted clay. His skin was paler than he remembered; with so much colour gone from it. As if he'd never went back into the sunlight after leaving Fastoon. His eyes where circled by blackened skin till he almost looked like he hadn't slept. Unnatural and ugly, and not just on the skin.

His bony fingers where gripping the mechanism that drove the throne; the mechanical spider came to a halt, mere yards away from Ickabar. His back hunched, the lombax had to crane his neck to look up at him, his eyes drawn wide.

All he saw was hatred. It burned through him like the fire around them. Ickabar felt something bottling inside. "...Per..."

The cragmite's face twisted in hatred. "Do not address me, you loathsome gnat." He spat, breaking the silence that had gripped them in a suffocating hold. Ickabar's form shuddered at the words. They bit into him like fangs.

He swallowed, his eyes never wavering. "...Th...You...you did this..."

The cackle that shot into the air almost sent him reeling. His eardrums screeched in pain as the foul laugh rumbled in the cragmite's chest; he was bent over, gripping the joysticks on his beastly stead as if the amusement had exhausted him. "Oh, how easy it was! After so many years of planning, it all sealed together splendidly! Over ten years I built an army as if there was going to be a fight!"

Ickabar watched with growing horror as he heaved with high-pitched laughter, laughter so insane and misshapen that it almost sounded like an animal's yell. His head rose just a little.

"...Y-years..." He murmured, his dry throat aching. "...The cragmites where banished...so many years ag-o..."

The cragmite's laugher had finally subsided and his grin went with it; an indifferent sneer in its place as he glowered at the purple being below. "Atrocities do not vanish with time, you despicable half-wit."

"The blame does." Ickabar found himself bursting, though it didn't come out as loud as he hoped. "This...this is insane. How can you blame people now for what happened then, when we rai-"

The foot of the throne slammed down in front of him; an inch away from the ends of his fur. Ickabar reeled back, his legs tangling, and fell to the cinder-flooded floor below him; his side screaming in agony.

"Raised me? You controlled me! Made me into a mascot of your 'success' during the Great War, as the reminder of the Cragmite Defeat! A mockingly kept pet! Well today the tables have turned..."

Ickabar raised his head. Maybe it was the heat in the ground and ash below him. Maybe finally the coldness was going. Whatever reason, the heat travelled up his side and through his body until he could feel it burning in his face, his cheeks and chin, his palms. His head bent; straggly hairs falling past his eyes, he felt the lump in his throat turn to poison.

All the while, the cragmite continued talking without him looking at him.

"The atrocities committed by your kind are receiving a long over-do punishment." He drawled, a knife-sharp smoothness to his voice, "Finally my years of patience are paying off. Your kind kept me here like a prisoner, unaware of my history, keeping me a brainless ward they could parade around, as if they could pretend 'sparing' my life excused their horrors!"

Tachyon sat back in his seat; hands pressed together, smirking lightly. But anger spun behind it. "And this is just the beginning. Soon I will have desecrated this planet and rid it of this filth, and so much more..."

All the while Ickabar had not moved. His head remained bent; his body on its side. His one working arm propping him up. The words circled him.

"...You're telling me...you're doing all of this...for something that happened thousands of years ago?"

His nerves turned to fire.

His body leaped up with strength fuelled by the heat in his blood, throwing him forward, his arms behind him and his bony fingers curled to fists, his legs kicking him off the ground and up at the cragmite.

His voice tore from his chest in a broken shriek.

"YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR MIND!"

The arm of the throne hit against his upper body in a hard, violent swipe; slapping him away like a fly. Ickabar felt the force of it push him back through the air and travel up his throat. He gagged; blood flying from his mouth he heard the crack of what surely was his own rib. He flew backwards, and hit the ground. The air had been knocked from his body.

He gave a strangled yelp as he collided with the floor, his back against the dirt, the red-black sky all he could see.

Ickabar laid where he was, his mind blank, and his body empty.

"You should have seen the looks on their faces, Lombax."

He could hear the throne stomping towards him. The sound grew closer. Ickabar could feel the vibration of each step through the ground. It was all he could hear, all he could feel.

"When poor little Percival's army arrived, towering over them all. Their self-righteousness shattered like glass. And weapons shooting them down, created by their own scientists!"

Closer. Ickabar's arms stirred, pushing him up, onto his elbows, lifting his back.

The foot of the throne came down on top of it. The crushing wait slammed him back down, crushing his chest; the claws curling around him. Ickabar stared upwards. Against the red sky, the black outlines of burnt rubble; the silhouettes of destroyed buildings winding around like briar thorns, Percival looked so in place. Dressed in red, a colourless face, bulging eyes as yellow as the flames burning his home to the ground.

He was staring down at him with cold, raw fury. Ickabar could feel the weight of the throne. Percival's grip on the joysticks tightened gradually.

Ickabar felt nothing, he thought nothing. All he did was look up at him, and Tachyon looked back. Then his hands moved. Ickabar readied himself for the pain, for the end; to hear the cracking of his own bones.

But instead the foot gripped him like a pair of metal talons, and they tossed him away. He slid through the air like a wet sack of flour. Ickabar landed on his stomach; hands smacking painfully against the gravel. His whole being was numb with shock.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes broad and pale.

The cragmite snarled. "Get out of my sight."

Ickabar stared back at the creature. This creature, who he had once loved.

He got to his feet, and ran back into the ash and smoke.

...

Ratchet kept on walking. No rests, he told himself, no delays. His whole body felt stripped of energy and even the tiny harness over his upper body felt like a ten-ton weight. All he could hear in the desolate silence was his own breathing. His footsteps, uneven and wobbly, synced with his pounding heart.

He was half-running, half walking through the closed up road. It didn't seem like day or night; the sky was trapped in a dim state of greyness. He kept going, through he felt more awful than he ever had, and he had no idea why. It was almost like being intoxicated; a feeling he didn't think he'd ever be able to coin, but now felt suited this feeling he had all too well.

He didn't think. For now, Ratchet just watched.

...

Ickabar was running. And all plans he'd had before had vanished. He couldn't think, so he ran. It seemed like the only thing he remembered to do. His body fell so cold, yet it was soaked with sweat. He knew he was exhausted, thirsty, and in so much pain, but all of it felt far away. Something in him was aching, not like when he was little and had bottled all the taunts and jeers inside. Something in him, deep, deep down, so he couldn't quite explain it.

He tripped and flew forward, his chest leaping – but something grabbed him, firm and harsh, on the shoulder and the back of his shirt. Ickabar's first instinct was to struggle – but then his arm was pulled over someone's shoulder. The back of a pale fawn head came into view; a braid swinging hazily in the chaos.

"F..." Fergus. Fergus tugged him away, both limping; Fergus steadier, his face hard. The flooding relief Ickabar felt at seeing his face couldn't be described.

In more ways than one. His own head felt too heavy to lift; his chin bumping against the pit of his neck. He leaned on Fergus more than he wanted to.

BLAST.

Fergus was torn from him. The explosion that hit the ground tossed them back. Ickabar rolled across the ground, his vision blurred. He couldn't breathe properly, his chest felt too sore. He clambered to his feet, however. Where was Fergus?

He turned his head. He spotted him, numb with shock –and between them was rubble too sharp and fire-caught to get over. Fergus was cursing, he could tell by the look on his face. Ickabar strained to make out his words as he called over.

"Get to the court! There's an evacuation! Someone said they saw your kid there!"

The rubble slipped; a building toppled. Fergus fled away, as did Ickabar- the two in opposite directions. Ickabar felt something in him pull helplessly. He was scared Fergus would be hurt. Perc...the cragmite had always hated him.

Court. It was a start.

Ickabar limped away, trying to ignore the pain. It wasn't far, but every second was stretching out. He could no longer see any other lombaxes; in fact, out here, the invasion had moved on. Apart from he and Fergus, everything here was already...gone.

Ickabar found himself limping down a street he barely recognised; following old routes his brain tried to remember. He gripped his shoulder. It felt awfully dry and swollen; his arm smacking uselessly against his side. He realized the numbness that had claimed his whole body earlier had not left his arm.

Ickabar leaned against a wall, his knees buckling.

Don't stop. Almost there.

Ickabar moved along the wall. In the distance, he heard explosions rumbling. His legs dragged, and he could no longer lift them. Is this it? It feels like I'm shutting down...

The world around him blurred, and Ickabar fell onto his back. His whole body was aching, and he was so tired. He had a nagging, horrid feeling that he should move and not fall asleep, but he couldn't manage it.

He didn't hear the footsteps padding towards him, or the voices that called for him to awaken.

...

The hallway materialised around him like ink seeping through a napkin. Ickabar's eyelids felt heavy and as rough as sandpaper. Above him, blurry forms stood out against the smooth, clean blue-silver metal. He was inside.

His hearing returned with a 'pop'. It didn't take a second for him to realize he was in a very, very crowded area. He felt more awake than he had during the whole attack; his arm felt like it was full of tiny needles...but he could feel it. He wiggled his fingers.

Ickabar turned his head and found his shoulder back in place and bound in white cloth.

A hand seized his other shoulder and he jerked his head around. Leo was looking down at him; his face ragged, his eyes wide – but relief flooded Ickabar's senses. "Leo..!" He gasped, hardly believing it.

"Thanks." Came a dark voice to his left. Ickabar looked over, his body almost going weak again.

"Fergus..."

Fergus was leaning against the wall nearby. Ickabar glanced around. They were in the Court of Azimuth, he was sure of it. The corridor, however. The majority of the crowd was in the actual circular hall ahead. Ickabar felt something sink in him when he saw just how little people there where. And those that where there all looked like ghosts; people lying on stretchers, on blanks; bloodied and broken. Some missing limbs. Ickabar turned away from it, dragging himself to his feet.

He should have stayed to speak to Fergus, but other things where on his mind. He limped into the main hall. As he did, people shooed out of his way like sheep away from a dog. At first that is; as he got closer to the centre people barely seemed to register him, or anyone else for that matter.

"Dad!"

Ickabar's heart lifted incredibly. He saw his son, miraculously clean and un-bloodied, running towards him through the throngs of people. He dropped to his knees and held out his arms; Raym slammed into his chest, little arms around his neck.

Raym sobbed quietly, clinging to him, scared out of his mind – but nowhere near understanding the true size of what had happened. He'd simply been frightened. By the looks of him he'd got into the court earlier in the attack. He barely saw anything.

Ickabar stroked his head, murmuring words of comfort like he'd do whenever his son had a nightmare. Ickabar almost felt like himself again.

"D-dad...I thought you'd gone..."

"I haven't. I'm here." And he had no idea why. Ickabar, his son in his arms, could see lombaxes looking at him. Their expressions weren't friendly. They bore into him...accusing.

Ickabar was the foster brother of the creature that had just ruined their lives. The realization dawned on him quickly, and he felt more unwelcome than he had ever been in his life.

"D-dad..." Raym's voice came again, oblivious to the stares. "M-mom, Percy and Sis aren't here..."

The stares where forgotten. Ickabar drew back so he could see his son's face; his hands gripping his small shoulders. Panic gripped him. "What?!"

"I watched the entrance, they didn't come in." Raym whimpered, his voice thick, brown eyes watery. Ickabar remembered. In horror, he remembered that Raym had been with a friend's family. That was how he got here. They had been close to the Court.

The rest of his family was still out there.

Ickabar gave a shaky breath. By now they could be...

He refused to think about it, standing up, his legs trembling. His hands remained on his son's shoulders, and he looked at him. He looked at his face, so innocent and young. The face that had lightened his soul seven years ago.

Ickabar knew what he had to do and he had a horrible insinuation that this may be the last time he saw his eldest son's face. He swallowed, heart swelling. Could he risk going back, dying, and leaving him? But how could he pass the chance to save his wife and two youngest children? How could either of them live like that?

"...R-Raym...I'm going to go and get your mother, and Percy and your sister..." He murmured, looking right at him. Raym stared up at him, looking broken.

"But D-dad..." He wailed quietly. "I don't want you to go!"

Ickabar pulled him close, holding him tight, as if he'd never hold him again. "I have to. I'll go and get them, and be back soon. Remember...remember all the times Uncle Fergus said I survived crazy things that p-people thought where impossible to survive...? It's just like those times."

Raym sniffed, burrowing his head against his chest. "...O-okay..."

Ickabar stood, legs straining- but his slip into unconsciousness had given him a little more energy. Precious stamina and a clear head to do what he needed to do. He drew a hand over his son's fuzzy head.

"It'll be okay." He forced a smile. It felt alien doing it.

"Ickabar..."

Ickabar barely recognised the voice. Husky and thick. He pivoted his body. Above him, on the higher ledge of the court was a familiar amber lombax. His fur was coated in musk, his eyes vacant and his face heavy. Kaden. The Keeper of the Dimensionator.

Yards away was the Lombax Council; Ickabar recognized them by attire and by the medals and amour. Kaden was not among them. At his feet sat a strange, helmet-like contraption that Ickabar had only read about. He hadn't seen any pictures, but he knew what it was.

The Dimensionator. Suddenly he realized what was going on. They were leaving. Not just the planet, but this plain of existence itself. And...They had lost. If this was all that was left...

His eyes met Kaden's, and his thoughts faded away. In his arms, something wriggled. A little yellow arm reached up towards Kaden's chin from a shaggy blanket. Ickabar's heart pulled.

"...May I hold him...?" He'd moved up the stairs towards him without knowing. He didn't know how Kaden would react – but then a smile broke out on his dirty face, and he almost looked like Kaden again. He held the tiny bundle out.

The baby was tinier than any of Ickabar's children had been, so fragile and soft, more so than his little daughter. Perhaps even born today. His face, his ears, seen his little nose looked just like Kaden's. The resemblance to him reminded him of Percy's to himself.

The infant wriggled in his hands. Ickabar moved his palm to support his head. The child's hands where curled into tiny fists, as if knowing of the danger outside these walls. Ickabar lifted him to eye-level, and the child's eyes cracked open.

As green as emerald, and as Kaden's. They stared back at him hazily, this pale ghostly stranger. Ickabar smiled faintly.

"...H-hey...sorry your where born under such circumstances..." He found himself murmuring. He glanced back at Kaden, who watched him quietly, his smile sad and quiet.

"...You'll survive this." Ickabar said to the infant. He felt a lump rise in his throat. "You deserve better. But you'll survive this...I promise. One day you'll look back on this as...just history."

The baby's fingers curled around the hands that held him instinctively. Ickabar handed him back to his father, and looked down at Kaden with a heavy heart.

"...Your wife..."

Kaden's look said it all. He did not meet eyes with him, but stared ahead, his throat trembling and his jaw firmly shut. Ickabar wrapped his arms around him and Kaden's forehead fell on his shoulder. Kaden wasn't his friend like Fergus was. But they respected each other. They were both colleagues of similar minds; the Thora studier and the Zoni studier. Time and Lifeforce. Their children lost this world together.

"Goodbye, Kaden. I wish you happiness."

"...When we open the portal...it will not be opened again, Ickabar...I can only keep it open for so long."

Ickabar drew back quietly, and nodded. "...Do what you have to."

For a second, his eyes went to Raym. Kaden looked ready to protest, but it died in his throat, and he gave a simple nod. Ickabar descended back down the stairs to Raym, who stood shuffling and wringing his hands.

Ickabar knelt again and wrapped his arms around him, warm and tight. He rested his chin on his son's soft head, feeling the tears spill from him at last. He would be safe, no matter what happened out there. He would go through the portal. Kaden would make sure.

But it hurt so much. He felt his heart break as he forced his arms to slide away, to let go of his precious son. Raym was crying, too, the tears flooding down his face as Ickabar turned and hurried back to the hall, past Fergus and Leo, towards the exist, ignoring shouts and calls of insanity and that it was no use.

"What's he doing?"

"Where's he going?"

He looked back over his shoulder once, and saw his son, a little purple blur among the crowds of brown and reds.

Ickabar ran to the doors as the guards where sealing them shut, and leaped through the small gap that remained, and into the outer halls of the building. The purple lombax continued, forcing himself to run, the distance between him and his child getting bigger and bigger. It left his heart in pieces.

He leaped from the door of the entrance hall, and into the chaos once more.

Fergus ran after him. Leo followed behind.

The three figures moved back into the wasteland that was once Fastoon.


XO by What-if-Writer
XO
This is an odd little character. I created him from the idea that the LGMs made a 'Organisation' not, not a ranger, to work in offices and technical duties. And I was looking for inspiration, how to differ him from XL and XR, and I thought of him having one 'trail' like XL once had- then that went to a single leg, then to my mind jumping to the Pixar Logo, Luxo Jr. Obviously the 'XO' Comes from the end of 'Luxo' 

He hops around usually; giving off the same sound as the lamp. If he wished to go faster he can hover. Both his torso and his 'collar' are meant to resemble the Luxo lamp shade. his hands resembled flattened bulps bih a purple thumb.

He has an orange head because...yell, its between Yello (XR) And Red (XL) Though he can light up as yellow when disguising himself as an actual desk lamp. He is very small and slender, a few inches shorter than XR.

XRs relationship with his 'little bro' is a strained one. XR insists on seeing him as a sibling despite XO teetering on enemy acts sometimes, while Xo - ever the logical one- feels awkward and irritated by the idea of robots having siblings. (Much like Nebula's reaction.) He has yet to run into XL, but hopes to keep XR's idea of him being yet another brother away from him to avoid being flattened.

The personality I have for XO in mind is still in 'working out the kink' stage. For now I imagine him with a reserved, calm exterior and logical workings, while also having an irritable, neat-freak, awkward side with some doses of humour here and there. His morality flutters between good and bad; he himself is unsure of who he is.
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Heavy Gun by What-if-Writer
Heavy Gun
Its been a while since I drew Mundy; the Praire Person OC From Bravestarr. Those who have read the fics and seen other pictures will know bits and pieces of his story.

I drew him with the new lining style. Came out pretty good.
Loading...
Request 1 by What-if-Writer
Request 1
This took a while. Manolo, I officially despise your outfit.

This is kinda my first Request; usually I do gifts or more usually, Trades.
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I recently re-drew an old character of mine; old in a sense of how long I've been on DA. I uploaded the main picture, but made a comparison image with two previous images. Time has sure flown; two years and I've improved greatly. When I first joined DA I didn't expect to hang around a lot, especially at the beginning where writing was my main priority. But now drawing has become almost a rival to my writing; sometimes I wonder what I'm better at.

I never expected to have close to eighty watchers; I don't usually get comments unless its the same person following a certain thing (I.E A fanfic) But my canon work has landed a lot more attention than I thought it would. Long story shot I grew more popular than I'd ever think.

Not that I am popular; I'll eat my own figurative hat if this gets a comment or two, this journal. Christmas is coming and the temperature and light has dropped; cosy socks and hot drinks are in order. I've found myself re-watching and re-reading lots of old things I loved, like the Clone Wars.

I never realized General Grievous was my favorite character; Cad Bane took that spot. It switched around a little. I had a lot of stories going for Clone Wars, and I loved it for quite a while, so its odd I never drew anything of it or wrote anything aside from a brief OC reference doc with no images. That was back when I still edited already existing screenshots and over-coloured; Oh the dreaded cringing.

Same thing with Buzz Lightyear; darn I had ideas. But it all comes down to the inclusion of OCs that drove these stories, and my enthusiasm for creating more oc-filled things fell. My Ratchet and Clank story has enough of those, though I've kept the canon characters prominent.

I've written some Crash Bandicoot things, without ANY of my old ocs from my childhood. Drawn some, but never written. I left it in its canon glory.
Everyone has Fan Characters and I'm guilty of that, too, and of overlooking these characters for canon work. It goes to show that no matter how good an OC is (and I've seen great ones) people rarely take interest.

So I'm shocked to find when people do like them; Mundy the prairie person (Bravestarr) and Ickabar Locksher (R&C) Receive praise. 

So this new style I've gotten into...I have mixed feelings. The lining is sharp, but it looks off sometimes as does the colouring; almost more pixel-like. I don't know if its a bad setting or not.

Random laments of a reflecting cartoon-y artist person.

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:iconlombaxartist:
lombaxartist Featured By Owner 2 days ago  Student Digital Artist
Happy  birthday!
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What-if-Writer Featured By Owner 2 days ago
Thanks ^^
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lombaxartist Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Student Digital Artist
Your  very  welcome!
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DitaTheBulldog666 Featured By Owner 2 days ago
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 
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What-if-Writer Featured By Owner 2 days ago
Thanks you XD
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DitaTheBulldog666 Featured By Owner 1 day ago
No problem!  
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110Gamergirl Featured By Owner 3 days ago
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
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What-if-Writer Featured By Owner 2 days ago
Thanks :la:
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110Gamergirl Featured By Owner 2 days ago
:happybounce: Huggle! 
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